


fortuitous goons

by parenthetic (renaissance)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Cultural References, Lowercase, M/M, Notfic, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2019-06-05 04:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/parenthetic
Summary: yuuri and viktor meet at schoolies.





	fortuitous goons

**Author's Note:**

> i originally wrote this a bit over a year ago (posting in july '18, but have set the publication date to when this fic was originally posted) in response to a post dadvans made on tumblr; have since gotten rid of my fic tumblr, which meant that the best thing i've ever written was obliterated from the internet. i've been vacillating for ages over whether or not to post it, but i'm currently doing some hardcore procrastination so here you have it!
> 
> the title is a reference to the quintessentially aussie passtime of "goon of fortune," wherein one straps a goon sack (boxed wine) to a hills hoist (washing line) and spins it around. in general there's a fair bit of australiana in this so hmu if you think a glossary would be helpful lol

the thing is, viktor nikiforov is absolutely what passes for a celebrity in australia. not only is he a figure skater (at age 17, he came in twentieth at worlds and the _sun herald_ did a feature on him) but he’s a model and a sometime actor too. he was in two seasons of _home and away_ as a kid and yuuri katsuki (hobbyist figure skater living in sydney’s western suburbs) owns every single issue of _tv week_ that’s featured even the smallest thumbnail photograph of him. when viktor took up figure skating, yuuri started making the trip to penrith ice palace each weekend in the hope that one day he could be good enough to meet viktor at australian nationals. when viktor posted a selfie with a poodle on his bebo page, yuuri asked if he could get a poodle too. (he was 13, and his parents had to say no because they couldn’t afford it, but now yuuri is 17 and the dream is still alive.)

at the end of yuuri and phichit’s year 12 graduation ceremony, they’re kicking around by the oval and phichit’s checking his phone when he says, “oh my god, yuuri, we are _so_ going to schoolies.”

“what?” yuuri shakes his head furiously. “mum would kill me. _mari_ would kill me.”

(his dad would be down with it though. he’d probably give yuuri money for beer.)

“i’ll convince them,” phichit says. “listen, my mate at trinity who has a mate at grammar who knows people at barker says that viktor nikiforov is going to the gold coast for schoolies. yuuri. we are _going_.”

on a scale of skipping class to get a frappe at glorias to walking around bankstown at night, this is the number #1 terrible idea phichit has ever had, but somehow phichit sweet-talks yuuri’s parents and sister into letting him go, which is ridiculous, because yuuri _still_ hasn’t managed to convince them to let him own a poodle. but anyway. he’s going to schoolies, apparently.

(his dad gives him money for beer. “don’t tell mum,” he says. “remember to drink lots of water.”)

fast-forward to after their HSC is over, and yuuri and phichit are on a tiger flight to the gold coast. they’re with a couple of other guys from school so they don’t have to room with strangers at the YHA. not that they’re planning on keeping to their room. the trick, phichit says, is to meet people who have rooms at proper hotels and crash there for the night. yuuri reckons he’s just talking out of his arse, but the technique nets results, and by the end of their first night they’re in an extravagant room with a view of the sea, at a party hosted by this guy called jj who’s from melbourne, which they know because he tells them so at every opportunity.

“we don’t have proper beaches in melbourne,” he says, apropos of nothing, “but the coffee is really good.”

yuuri thinks jj might be drunk. “that’s nice,” he says.

“where are you from?” jj asks. “you know, everyone who’s anyone from melbourne is here tonight.”

“i’m from sydney,” yuuri says. he thinks _he_ might be drunk too.

“sick,” jj says. “my parents have a holiday house near manly. have you ever been to melbourne?”

at this point, yuuri, who has never been so much as south of the shire, realises the full extent of how rich white kid this all is, and makes his escape. he grabs another two coronas for good measure, one in each hand, and joins phichit on the balcony—only, phichit is already making out with some guy he’s just met, and yuuri kinda doesn’t want to interrupt him, so he turns around, and—

“chris, is that y—”

—walks face-first into someone who’s just coming onto the balcony.

“shit, sorry,” yuuri says. there’s beer all down both of their shirts. he needs to leave immediately.

“no worries,” says the person yuuri walked into.

yuuri’s palms are sweating, or maybe that’s the condensation from the corona bottles. when he looks up, he sees viktor nikiforov, and he thinks he must be _really_ drunk to have such a beautiful hallucination.

“guess i’ve gotta take my shirt off,” the spectre of viktor nikiforov says, shrugging. he starts unbutton his beautiful white rich white boy shirt, and yuuri is suddenly very, very glad he came to schoolies.

“wow,” yuuri says, mouth working ahead of his brain, “you look just like viktor nikiforov.”

viktor nikiforov’s professional body double laughs, and takes one of the beers from yuuri, taking a swig of what’s left. “that’s because i am viktor nikiforov,” he says.

yuuri narrows his eyes. “uh-huh. sure.”

“no, really!” the fake viktor says. “i’m viktor nikiforov.”

“nice try,” yuuri says. with his free hand, he yanks at the front of fake viktor’s shirt. “but you’ll do.”

he pulls fake viktor away from the balcony and back into jj’s hotel room, where some dickhead who listens to pitbull has taken over the speakers. this won’t do, yuuri decides. he seeks out the speaker system—fake viktor follows—and commandeers the laptop attached to it. this person’s just left youtube on autoplay, which is a really bad idea, because yuuri puts on some holly valance and decides to show these rich losers how it’s _really_ done.

“holy shit,” fake viktor says. he opens his mouth, closes it again. “holy _shit_.”

“dance with me, fake viktor,” yuuri says.

“i keep telling you, i really am viktor nikiforov,” fake viktor says.

yuuri slut-drops right up close to fake viktor, and when he comes back to his feet, he stands on his toes and whispers in fake viktor’s ear, “the _real_ viktor nikiforov would give me a run for my money.”

fake viktor smirks. “i love a challenge.”

they dirty dance to _down boy_ and when the song changes to something yuuri doesn’t know, he just keeps it going, and the boy who he might be convinced to concede actually is viktor nikiforov goes with him.

phichit and the guy he was making out with come back in while _milkshake_ is playing, and phichit gets the whole thing on video. there are plenty of people drawn to yuuri, but it’s clear even on camera that yuuri only has eyes for viktor.

“i’ll grant you, they’re impressive,” jj says to no-one in particular, “but you could see better dancing at a party in melbourne.”

then someone yells, “BEACH!” and the room empties faster than all the bottles of beer yuuri’s had to drink since the party began.

it’s late now—yuuri couldn’t begin to guess _how_ late—and the beach is packed with a whole lot of other kids and their eskies full of beer. viktor only disappears from yuuri’s side for a few minutes, and when he returns he’s cradling a goon sack like an infant child, and he presents it to yuuri like a trophy.

“an offering for the king of the night,” viktor says. “i definitely gave you a run for your money, but you won my heart.”

yuuri puts a hand to his chest. “me?”

“you,” viktor says, so full of adoration.

“thank you,” yuuri says very quietly. he pulls the goon sack close. he is never letting go of it, ever. “you know, i only came to schoolies because phichit found out from a friend of a friend you’d be here.”

viktor looks solicitous all of a sudden. “really? do i live up to your expectations?”

“i don’t know what i was expecting,” yuuri admits. “i guess i expected we wouldn’t run into each other at all, and even if we did, i’d be too nervous to talk to you, and that would be that.”

“i’m so, so glad we met,” viktor says, and kisses yuuri.

 _he doesn’t know what he’s doing_ , yuuri thinks. _he’s drunk. he doesn’t know what he’s doing_.

yuuri is drunk too. he lets the goon sack drop and kisses viktor back, arms flung around his neck.

the tide is coming in, and people yuuri doesn’t know and probably never will are taking off their shoes and run into the waves. “we should swim,” he says.

“why not,” viktor says. “i’m already shirtless.”

yuuri takes off his beer-stained shirt to match, and leaves his shoes by the goon sack. viktor holds out his hand, no more than a silhouette in the moonlight, and yuuri takes it. they’ve kissed, but this feels far more intimate. viktor breaks into a run towards the waves, and as he’s done for so long, yuuri follows him.

this time, though, it feels strangely like taking the lead.

(the next morning, he wakes up on a couch in someone’s hotel room with a mouth drier than bushfire season and a pounding headache. yuuri squints, trying to remember what happened last night, but he doesn’t get much further than his first impressions of the room he’s currently in, and some vague memories of kissing someone by the ocean.

it’s probably just a dream, he tells himself, getting up from the couch and doing the walk of shame back to the YHA.

there are six nights of schoolies left.) 


End file.
